Diary of a Teenage Jewel Thief(52)
“Put it there.” Petrov gestures with an exaggerated wave toward the chessboard, and Vasili is quick to obey, knocking the chess pieces to the floor so he can set the box there. “Who has my key?” He holds his hand out waiting for someone, anyone to place the key in his palm. I dig it out of my pocket, but I take my time delivering it to him. It’s the last piece of a scary puzzle, the only thing left standing between Petrov and the records he’s been so itchy to get his hands on that he kidnapped Will and my mother. And then me.
But I can’t hold out forever, and eventually, I have to give Petrov the key. He yanks it from my grasp like he’s taking a coveted toy from a playmate. Even his expression is one of childlike petulance.
His hand shakes with nervous excitement as he slips the key into the lock and turns it, and I half expect him to squeal with delight as he pulls the latch and lifts the lid. His eyes practically bug out of his head when he gets his first good look at everything in the box. Maybe he was expecting less, I don’t know.
A sick feeling rises in the pit of my stomach as I watch him sift through the pictures and loose papers at the top, then set them aside and lift out one of the logbooks. He leafs through the pages reverently, and his lips quirk into the faintest hint of a smile, like he’s remembering the details of each entry and reliving the moments. And enjoying them. It’s almost as if the crimes he’s committed weren’t just for material gain or to increase his wealth and power but because he genuinely enjoyed hurting his victims. Like some sort of white-collar sadism. The rest of us are standing in rapt silence, a captive audience to him reveling in the reminder of his evil deeds.
After several moments, he reluctantly sets the log back in the box and replaces first the loose items then the lid. He lands his attention on me. His cold, empty gaze is unsettling and sets my already frazzled nerves on edge. “Is that everything?” he asks.
I swallow hard and nod, unable to make my tongue work to answer him verbally.
It seems to be enough, though, because he nods and locks the box, then tucks the key into his pants pocket. “Good.” Then he picks up the box, tucks it under one arm, and addresses Niko. “Kill them.”
My insides twist into a frantic knot, and I’m stuck between wanting to attack Petrov, claw at his face with my bare hands, and wanting to plead for my life. “What?” My voice is shrill and panicked, but I don’t care. “You said if I got you the stuff you would let us go!” I must have lunged in his direction a bit with my words because suddenly Niko is holding me back again.
Petrov watches me, eyebrows raised, before answering. “Hmm, so I did. You poor deluded child. You actually expected me to keep my word? To behave honorably?” He seems so surprised by the idea that I might have actually trusted him to do what he said.
Before I can answer him, he spins on his heel and heads for the door next to the wet bar. When he’s about to cross the threshold into the other room, he calls over his shoulder, “Oh, and Niko, do it on the ground. We don’t want to bloody up the jet, hmm?”
Niko doesn’t respond, but his fingers tighten ever so slightly around my upper arm. A heartbeat later, his grip loosens just as subtly, then he lets go altogether.
“Petrov.” My uncle’s voice booms through the cabin, and Petrov turns immediately, half inside the other room. I have to turn slightly to follow his gaze, and when I see what my uncle’s up to, I back away a few steps. Uncle Samuel has placed himself directly behind Niko and has a gun pressed to the other man’s temple. Niko stands stock-still, but his eyes are darting around the room, from person to person, probably trying to work out the best way to extricate himself from this situation. Vasili hasn’t budged; he’s still standing just inside the exit, right behind Will.
“Don’t be stupid, Sam. What are you going to do, shoot him? You’re not a killer.” Petrov’s tone is all pandering condescension, like he’s talking to a rebellious toddler.
Uncle Samuel is unflinching, all business. “If it will save my family, I am. You said you’d let them go, and I’m holding you to that. It’s the only reason I helped you find them in the first place.”
Petrov chuckles. “Do you think I care if you kill him? Go ahead. He’s just an employee, someone to do my dirty work.”
Petrov’s pronouncement causes Vasili’s stoic facade to crack, and a hint of thinly veiled fury flashes over his features before he recovers. He reaches slowly into his coat, and suddenly the room explodes into chaos.
Niko knocks his body backward into Uncle Samuel’s and the two men lunge into an impromptu wrestling match over my uncle’s weapon, even as Vasili pulls a gun out of his shoulder holster. Will reaches for Vasili’s gun, but he’s just a moment too late to get the upper hand. Vasili levels it at Will’s chest, and Will backs up, two steps, three steps, four, until he’s standing almost next to me. Satisfied that Will is far enough away from him that he can’t wrest the gun from him, Vasili changes aim to target me.
At almost the exact same moment, Uncle Samuel regains control over Niko and forces him down into one of the captain’s chairs in front of the chessboard.
“Let him go, Flores.” Vasili’s command is little more than a gravelly whisper, but the sound carries the weight of a shout. “Or the girl dies.”
“And the mother.”
While I’ve been focused on the melee in front of me, I’ve forgotten all about Petrov. He’s ditched the box, probably in his private room on the other side of the door, and he’s pulled my mother from her seat to hold her captive in front of him. And he has a bar knife pressed against her throat.